"Breaking Bad"

Pilot

by
Vince Gilligan

Production Draft
March 18, 2007 Yellow
March 4,2007 Pink
March 2, 2007 Blue
Feb 19, 2007 White

Topanga Productions, Inc

7208 Jefferson St., NE
Suite B
Albuquerque, NM 87109
 TEASER

1 EXT. PASTURELAND - DAY 1

Overhead, deep blue sky. Below it, rust-red rock formations
stick up here and there out of the dry blonde scrub grass.
Various ANGLES on this beautiful desolation. All is silent.

Now, in slight SLOW-MOTION...

... A pair of TROUSERS come flying into frame.

Men’s flat-front Dockers. Taupe. On a green plastic hanger.

We’re looking up at them as they lazily arc across the sky,
coming from nowhere. While they tumble to the earth...

... VRRRROOOOOOOM! We RAMP to regular speed just as an old,

chalky-beige WINNEBAGO zooms past us into frame!

This RV speeds smack-dab through the pasture, no road in

sight. A bit out of place, to say the least.

And what’s this? Are those BULLET HOLES in the door?

2 INT. WINNEBAGO - DAY 2

Inside, the DRIVER’s knuckles cling white to the wheel. He’s
got the pedal mashed flat. Scared, breathing fast. His eyes
bug wide behind the faceplate of his gas mask.

Oh, by the way, he’s wearing a GAS MASK. That, and white
jockey UNDERPANTS. Nothing else.

Buckled in the seat beside him lolls a clothed PASSENGER,

also wearing a gas mask. BLOOD streaks down from his ear,
blotting his T-shirt. He’s passed out cold.

Behind them, the interior is a wreck. Beakers and buckets

and flasks -- some kind of ad-hoc CHEMICAL LAB -- spill their
contents with every bump we hit. Yellow-brown liquid washes
up and down the floor. It foams in a scum around...

... Two DEAD BODIES. Two freshly deceased Mexican guys

tumble like rag dolls, bumping into each other.

Completing this picture is a blizzard of CASH. Twenty grand

in tens and twenties floats in the nasty brown soup.

CLOSE on the driver’s wide eyes. He’s panting like a steam

engine. His mask FOGS UP until finally he can’t see.
 2.

3 EXT. PASTURELAND - CONTINUOUS 3

The Winnebago roars over a berm and into a gully. BAM! The
front bumper buries itself. WAAAAAAH! Rear wheels spin air.

The engine cuts off. Silence. The Winnie’s door kicks open
and out stumbles underpants man. He yanks off his gas mask
and FLINGS it in frustration.

He’s middle-aged. Mild-faced. Pasty. He’s not a guy who

makes a living working with his hands. Not a guy we’d pay
attention to if we passed him on the street.

But right now, at this moment, in this pasture? Right now,

we’d step the fuck out of his way.

Underpants man looks around -- what to do? What to do?!

Now, out of the silence, we hear... SIRENS.

Miles off -- but getting louder. There’s no escape for our

guy, who is boned with a capital B. He HOLDS HIS BREATH and
scrambles back up inside the RV.

4 INT. WINNEBAGO - CONTINUOUS 4

A steel .45 is clutched in the hand of one of the dead
Mexicans. Underpants grabs it, tucks it in his waistband.

His unconscious passenger, still strapped in his seat, lets

out a groan. Underpants leans past him, yanks open the glove
box. He comes up with a WALLET and a tiny Sony CAMCORDER.

5 EXT. PASTURELAND - CONTINUOUS 5

Jumping out, he EXHALES big and starts breathing again --
which sends him into a short COUGHING fit.

A dress shirt on a green hanger dangles from the Winnebago’s

side-view mirror. Underpants pulls it on. No trousers,
unfortunately -- they’re a mile back behind us.

He licks his fingers, slicks his hair down with his hands.
He’s looking almost pulled together now -- at least from the
waist-up. All the while, the sirens get LOUDER.

Underpants turns on the camcorder. Twists the little screen

around so he can see himself. Framing himself waist-up, he
takes a second to gather his thoughts... then presses RECORD.
 3.

UNDERPANTS MAN
My name is Walter Hartwell White.
I live at 3828 Negra Arroyo Lane,
Albuquerque, New Mexico 87104.
To all law enforcement entities,
this is not an admission of guilt.
I am speaking now to my family.
(swallows hard)
Skyler... you are... the love of my
life. I hope you know that.
Walter Junior. You’re my big man.
I should have told you things, both
of you. I should have said things.
But I love you both so much. And I
just want you to know that these...
things you’re going to learn about
me in the coming days. These
things. I just want you to know
that... no matter what it may look
like... I only had you in my heart.

The sirens are WAILING now. WALTER WHITE, the underpants

man, turns off the camcorder. He carefully sets it on a
patch of ground by his feet. Beside it he sets his wallet,
lying open where it can be found.

CLOSE ON the wallet -- we see a Triple-A Club card, a

Blockbuster card, a Mensa membership. A coupon for Outback
Steak House. We glimpse an ID card that says “FACULTY.”

Walt pulls the chrome pistol from the back of his waistband,
stepping into the middle of the dirt road and taking aim.
The pistol glints hard in the sun.

Walt’s POV --flashing red LIGHT BARS twinkle into view,

skimming along the top of a low berm. Heading our way.

Walt stands tall in his underpants, not flinching. Off him,

ready to shoot the first cop he sees...

END TEASER
 4.

ACT ONE

6 EXT. WHITE HOUSE - EARLY MORNING 6

No president ever slept here. No millionaire ever visited.
This is a 70s-era three-bedroom in a modest neighborhood.
Weekend trips to Home Depot keep it tidy.

It’s still dark out. LEGEND: “ONE MONTH EARLIER.”

7 INT. WHITE HOUSE - MASTER BEDROOM - EARLY MORNING 7

Dark and silent. SKYLER WHITE, late 30s, sleeps peacefully.
Beside her, her husband Walter is wide awake.

Walt reaches over and presses a button on his Sharper Image

alarm clock. It projects the time in glowing blue numerals
on the cottage cheese ceiling: 5:02 AM.

Walt lies motionless. Brain churning. He presses the button

again, staring straight up. 5:02 turns to 5:03.

Close enough. Walt rises without waking his wife.

8 INT. WHITE HOUSE - SPARE BEDROOM - EARLY MORNING 8

We drift past an empty bassinet, a baby monitor still in its
box. COLOR CHIPS from the paint store are masking-taped to
the wall. There’s going to be a new addition to the family.

We find Walt standing motionless, staring at the far wall.

This room used to be a home office until the Ikea desk got
shoved way in the corner.

On the sheetrock, there’s a few diplomas and such -- but one

particular PLAQUE has Walt’s attention. “LOS ALAMOS NATIONAL
LABORATORY Hereby Recognizes WALTER H. WHITE, Crystallography
Project Leader for Proton Radiography. Contributor To
Research Awarded The 1985 Nobel Prize For Chemistry.”

Wow. But that was a long time ago. Walt stares at his name,
his expression kinda... faraway.

Walt climbs aboard a Lillian Vernon stair-stepper, just three

easy payments of $29.95. He plods up and down like he’s
marching to Bataan. He COUGHS a little, then plods on.
 5.

9 OMITTED 9

10 INT. WHITE HOUSE - KITCHEN - MORNING 10

A plate of eggs and unusually BRICK-RED bacon gets set down,
filling frame. The bacon is arranged in the number 50.

SKYLER
Happy Birthday!

Walt is dressed for work -- Dockers and a short-sleeve collar

shirt courtesy of Target. He stares at his plate.

WALT
Oh, look at that.

SKYLER
That’s veggie bacon, believe it or
not. Zero cholesterol, and you
won’t even know the difference.

WALT
Huh.

Skyler is dressed for staying around the house. At five

months pregnant, she’s just beginning to show.

SKYLER
When’ll you be home?

WALT
Same time.

SKYLER
I don’t want him dicking you around
tonight. You get paid till five,
you work till five. No later.

Seventeen year-old WALTER, JR. enters the kitchen, dressed

for school, hair still damp from the shower. The CLICK...
CLICK of his forearm crutches precedes him into the room.
 6.

Walt and Skyler’s son is a sweet-faced teenager who has

cerebral palsy. He moves awkwardly, and grinds his teeth as
he labors to talk. But he’s a smart kid.

WALTER, JR.
Happy--Birthday.

WALT
Thank you.

Just seating himself at the table is a trial for Walter, Jr.

His parents don’t give him the slightest help. They treat
him as if he were able-bodied, which is how he wants it.

SKYLER
You’re late again. *
WALTER, JR. *
Wasn’t any--hot water. Again. *
SKYLER *
You know, there’s a real easy fix *
for that -- get up early and be the *
first one in the shower. *
WALTER, JR. *
Yeah? Buy a decent--water heater. *
How ‘bout--that idea? For like, *
the millionth--billionth time. *
Walt lets out a dry COUGH-COUGH-COUGH. *
SKYLER *
You take your echinacea? *
WALT *
Yeah. It’s getting better. *
SKYLER *
You’re definitely sounding better. *
Walter, Jr. squints at the plate of food his mom plops down *
before him.

WALTER, JR.
What--the hell--is this?!

SKYLER
Hey!

WALT
Veggie bacon. We’re watching our
cholesterol. I guess.
 6A.

WALTER, JR.
Not--me! I want--real bacon!

SKYLER
Too bad. Eat it.

Walter, Jr. sniffs at his breakfast, annoyed.

WALTER, JR.
This--smells just like--Band-Aids. *
(smirks at his dad)
So how’s it--feel to be--o-oolld?

WALT
How’s it feel to be a smart-ass?

WALTER, JR.
(a thoughtful beat)
Good.
 7.

11 EXT. HIGH SCHOOL - MORNING 11

A campus surrounded by distant mountains. Into the faculty
lot motors a tan Pontiac Aztek. It parks in a handicapped
space. A handicapped placard hangs from the rear-view.

Walt climbs out from behind the wheel, checks his watch.
He’s late. Walter, Jr. struggles to get out of the passenger
side. He fumbles with his crutches and backpack.

WALT
All set?
(off his son’s nod)
Alright, see you at home.

Walt hurries to the building, leaving his son to work things

out for himself -- which is, again, how Walter, Jr. wants it.

12 INT. HIGH SCHOOL - CLASSROOM - DAY 12

Hours later. This is a chemistry classroom -- black-topped
lab tables with gas spigots. Walt is lecturing to seniors.

WALT
Chemistry is the study of what?

STUDENT
(a beat)
Chemicals?

Snickers from the smart kids.

WALT
Chemicals. No. Chemistry is...
well, technically, it’s the study
of matter. But I prefer to see it
as the study of change.
(a beat)
Think about it. Electrons change
their energy levels, molecules
change their bonds. Elements
combine and change into compounds.
That’s all of life, right? The
constant...
(shrug)
The cycle. Solution, dissolution,
over and over.

Gradually, we get the feeling Walt is talking more to himself

than his students. Almost like this is a pep talk.
 8.

WALT
Growth, decay. Transformation.
It’s fascinating, really.

Handsome CHAD sits slouched in the back with his hand jammed
in the lap of his cheerleader GIRLFRIEND. He whispers to her
and she giggles. Walt snaps out of it.

WALT
Chad, keep your hands to yourself
please. Is there something wrong
with your own table?

Chad sighs heavily and drags his stool back to an adjoining

table. Doing so, he makes as much NOISE as he can.

WALT
Alright, ionic bonds. Chapter six.

13 OMITTED 13

14 EXT. CAR WASH - AFTERNOON 14

It’s the late-day rush. Young Mexicans dry the cars by hand.

15 INT. CAR WASH - OFFICE - AFTERNOON 15

Walt’s afternoon part-time job. He works the cash register.

WALT
-- Eight, nine, ten, and ten makes
twenty. Thank you. Come again.

A CUSTOMER wanders off with his change. Walt busies himself

with record keeping. BOGDAN, the owner, argues on the phone.
Bogdan’s got some truly amazing EYEBROWS, by the way.

BOGDAN
No. Not -- that is not what I
said. What I said to you --

Bogdan switches to ROMANIAN. The conversation grows heated.

Finally, he barks something and hangs up. He turns to Walt.
 9.

BOGDAN
Not coming. Says he quit.
(sighs)
I’ll run the register.

WALT
Bogdan, no. We talked about this.

BOGDAN
I’m short-handed, Walter. What am
I to do? What am I to do?

Walt wants to argue -- but swallows it, instead.

16 INT./EXT. CAR WASH - AFTERNOON 16

The sun sinks low. Walt -- multiple degrees, Albuquerque
Science Educator of the Year -- towel-dries cars alongside
the teenage vatos. His slacks are spotted with soapy water.

He’s grimly at work on a bronze-orange Corvette -- brand-new

and beautiful. As he squats to Armor-All the tires, we hear:

CHAD (O.S.)
Hey. Make those tires shine!

Walt looks up to see handsome CHAD smirking down at him.

Young master Chad is tickled pink. This is his Corvette, by
the way. Chad’s girlfriend giggles into her cell phone.

GIRLFRIEND
(into phone)
Oh -- my -- GOD. You are not gonna
believe who’s washing Chad’s car! --

She cups a hand over her mouth, turns away. If looks could
kill, Walt would be charged with double homicide. But he
says nothing. He needs this job. He just scrubs harder.

17 INT. WALT’S CAR - DRIVING - LATE AFTERNOON 17

We’re in the back seat, looking forward at Walt as he drives
alone. His middle-class neighborhood slides past out the
windshield. We see his thousand-yard stare in the rear-view.

Walt COUGHS some. A dry little hack -- allergies, maybe.

Glancing up at the HANDICAPPED PLACARD that hangs from the
mirror, he suddenly plucks it down and glove-boxes it.
 10.

18 EXT. WHITE HOUSE - LATE AFTERNOON 18

A big OIL STAIN on the concrete driveway. Walt’s shitball
Aztek comes chugging in, parks over top of it. Walt climbs
out, brushes his knees. He’s dirty, dour and beat.

Walt unlocks the front door. He jumps when --

19 INT. WHITE HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS 19

-- SURPRISE! TWO DOZEN PEOPLE scare the crap out of him.
Crowded into this little room, they sing “Happy Birthday.”

Skyler beams at Walt as she sings. Simultaneously she taps a

finger to her watch -- you’re friggin’ LATE! Walt gets the
message, fakes a smile. Once the applause clears:

WALT
Oh my god, this is. Wow. Guys...

A chant of “Speech, Speech!” goes up. Most of Walt’s friends

are balding science nerds with large Adam’s apples. Nice
guys, but a mild bunch. A lot of white wine is being drunk.

WALT
Okay, okay. Oh man, this is so...
Geez, fifty years. That’s...
(does the math)
... 18,250 days. It is... 438,000
hours. It is, uhh... twenty-some
million minutes. Help me out, Irv.

Uber-nerd IRVING squints at the ceiling, quickly calculating.

IRVING
Twenty-six million, two hundred-
eighty thousand.

WALT
God, no wonder I feel like crap.
(laughter; clapping)
But because of friends like you...
and of course, my beautiful wife
and this handsome young guy here...
I just wanna say that every last
one of those minutes --

He’s interrupted by a loud boop of SIRENS. BLUE LIGHT

strobes through the curtains. People move to peer outside.
 11.

20 EXT. WHITE HOUSE - LATE AFTERNOON 20

Siren wailing, a big Yukon SCREECHES into the driveway behind
Walt’s Aztek. Blue wig-wag lights are flashing in the
grille. An unmarked Crown Vic slides to the curb, a blue
gumball spinning on the dash. Oh shit -- it’s a RAID!

Actually, no. It’s HANK, Walt and Skyler’s brother-in-law.

He climbs out of the Yukon, big and bad. Iridescent Gargoyle
sunglasses hang around his neck. He’s got a great smile.

A bottle of wine in each fist, Hank spreads his arms upon

seeing Walt and the party-goers spilling out onto the yard.

HANK
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YA SWINGIN’ DICK!
LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED! --

MARIE, Skyler’s SISTER (we see the resemblance), carries

wrapped presents and frowns at her husband. Hank’s crew of
SUBORDINATE AGENTS pile out and join the festivities. Two
guys hump a BEER KEG out of their trunk and into the house.

21 INT. WHITE HOUSE - EVENING 21

Later. Loud music, lots of laughing and drinking -- this is
ten times the party it was before the feds arrived. A few
nerd-types look nervous, but most everybody has a good time.

Skyler and Marie stand talking with another woman, CARMEN. *

Marie has a wine glass in one hand and her other arm folded
over her chest in that way that suggests disapproval.

WOMAN
(to Skyler)
I’m serious, look at you! You’re
flat as a washboard!
(to Marie)
She’s not showing at all, is she?

MARIE
She’s showing a little.

SKYLER
(pained smile)
Carmen, this is my sister Marie. *
Marie takes a sip of wine and shakes the woman’s fingers. *
Carmen is thinking what a pill, but she’s polite. Her gaze *
wanders to Walt, who steps past the three women. Carmen *
stares after him a brief moment. *
 12.

Over in a corner, Hank sits in Walt’s own “Archie Bunker”

chair. Young Walter, Jr. perches on the hassock at his feet.
It’s clear the teenager worships his fire-pisser uncle.

Several white-bread science types crowd around Hank, who

unholsters his SIDEARM. Reluctantly, Walt stands here, too.

HANK
Glock 22, that’s my daily carry.
Unless you’re talking Plus-P-Plus
loads, forget the nine mil -- I
seen one bounce right off a
windshield one time. I say bring
enough gun. Forty caliber’s
definitely the way to go.

As he holds forth, he drops the magazine and jacks the round

out of the pipe, catching it mid-air. Walter, Jr.’s eyes go
wide as his uncle hands him his unloaded pistol butt-first.

WALTER, JR.
Whooooa!

Walt can’t help but notice his son’s hero worship. Hank
seems to be everything Walt isn’t: bold, brash, confident.

Finished looking, Walter, Jr. offers the gun to his dad.

WALTER, JR.
Dad. Check--it out. Take it!

Walt awkwardly hefts the pistol. First time in his life.

WALT
Wow. Kinda heavy.

HANK
You get used to it.
(good-natured grin)
It’s not gonna bite you, man!
Jesus. You look like Keith
Richards with a glass of warm milk.

Guys guffaw. Walt forces a smile. Taking back his gun and
tucking it away, Hank abruptly WHISTLES, shutting folks up.

HANK
Hey! A toast to my brother-in-law!
Walt, your brain’s too big, but
your heart’s in the right place.
We love you, man. Na zdorov’e.

Folks clink glasses. Hank drains his beer, checks his watch.
 13.

HANK
Oh, hey! Turn on Channel Three!

22 INT. WHITE HOUSE - FIVE MINUTES LATER 22

CLOSE ON the TV -- late local news. HANK, the man himself,
is being interviewed at the scene of a bust. He wears a blue
D.E.A. windbreaker. He sounds polished and official.

HANK (ON TV)

-- At which point we apprehended
three individuals and placed them
into custody. I’m proud to say the
outstanding professionalism shown
by my fellow agents of the
Albuquerque District Office
resulted in a substantial quantity
of methamphetamine being taken off
the street.

Throughout this, we PULL BACK from the TV to show that Walt’s

entire birthday party has been highjacked. The party-goers
sit on the sofa, the floor, all of them politely watching the
news. Such is the force of Hank’s will.

FELLOW AGENT
Damn. The TV does add ten pounds.

HANK
(casually flips him off)
Ah-hah. Sit and spin, Gomez.

Guest of honor Walt, now forgotten, stands in the back.

Losing patience, he heads for the kitchen to fix a drink...
when something on TV catches his eye.

It’s the spoils of this drug bust. Laid out on a table are
several guns. But also... eight big SHOEBOXES full of CASH.

Walt stops in his tracks, watches. Despite himself...

WALT
Hank? How much money is that?

HANK
Almost seven hundred grand. Pretty
good haul.

The TV lingers on fat rolls of $20s. It’s more currency than

Walt has ever seen outside of a heist movie. He’s amazed.
 14.

WALT
That’s got to be unusual, right?
That kind of cash?

HANK
Mmm. Not the most we ever took.
(to the room)
Easy money... at least till we
catch you.

Hank flashes his great smile at everybody. He notes Walt’s

continued interest in the news report. Likes it.

HANK
Walt, just say the word and I’ll
take you on a ride-along. You can
watch us knock down a lab. Get a
little excitement in your life.

Walter, Jr. nods -- you should go! Walt shrugs sheepishly.

23 EXT. WHITE HOUSE - NIGHT 23

Lights are off. The party’s over, the guests have gone home.
Lots of empty bottles in the recycling bin at the curb.

24 INT. WHITE HOUSE - MASTER BEDROOM/BATHROOM - NIGHT 24

Walt, dressed for bed in sweats and a t-shirt, checks himself
out in the bathroom mirror. He’s not loving what he sees.
He rubs at a tenderness in his chest. He COUGHS a little.

In the bedroom, Skyler’s in her nightgown, sitting at the

computer. She’s following the final moments of an auction on
eBay. Walt pads into the room, sits down beside her.

WALT
Which one’s this?

SKYLER
(eyes on the screen)
That faux-Lalique vase I picked up
at the Super-Swap.

WALT
How’s it doing?

SKYLER
I met my reserve and there’s still
two minutes.
 15.

Walt sits watching. Without taking her eyes off the screen,
Skyler reaches over and slips a hand into Walt’s sweatpants.
Walt smirks, surprised.

WALT
What’s up?

SKYLER
You tell me, birthday boy.

Skyler plays with him, out of sight below frame. A beat.

SKYLER
So what’s on for Saturday?

WALT
Car wash. Bogdan says he needs me.

SKYLER
Until what? Noon? One o’clock?

WALT
More like... two, probably.

SKYLER
What about after?

WALT
Actually, I was thinking about, um.
Driving up to Los Alamos. The
visitor center’s got this exhibit
that’s supposed to be just --

SKYLER
-- You’re not gonna paint?

WALT
Yeah, I’ll paint. But they’ve got
this exhibition of Mars rover
photographs. Supposed to be, the
detail... just really amazing.

SKYLER
I just need you to paint at some
point. Sooner we get the back
bedroom finished...

WALT
I know.
 16.

SKYLER
I mean, I’ll do it myself, except
you said you didn’t want me up on
the stepladder. So...

WALT
I will paint. I’ll paint.

Skyler glances over at Walt’s crotch. Good-naturedly:

SKYLER
What’s going on down there?
Is he asleep?

WALT
I’m just... you know. We gotta be
careful of the baby.

SKYLER
Don’t worry about the baby. This
is for you. We’re only doing you
tonight.

Obscured by the computer, Skyler gives Walt a vigorous

handjob with one hand and works the mouse with the other.

SKYLER
Just relax. Just... close your
eyes and let it...

Skyler glances over at her husband. Apparently, there’s no

joy in Boner Town. No mighty oak sprung forth from whence
the lowly acorn lies, as the poet might say.

SKYLER
... Just. Close your eyes.

Walt does so, concentrating. Trying his best. Tugging away,

Skyler’s attention drifts back to the computer. Completely.

SKYLER
... That’s it. That’s... it.
There you go. Keep going. Keep
going. Keep it going. Keep...
(reacting to eBay)
Yes! Fifty-six!

Walt’s eyes open. The thrill is gone.

 17.

25 INT. CAR WASH - DAY 25

Steam rises. High-pressure jets WHOOOOSH. Inside this big
open space, the roar of MACHINERY is deafening.

Out of the darkness shuffles Walt, wheeling a handtruck that

holds a blue plastic barrel of detergent. This damn thing
weighs four hundred pounds. Walt really struggles with it.

It pops him up off the ground as he sets it down with a THUD,

pausing to catch his breath. Walt rests here a moment,
scratching at his chest. Pressing at it with his fingertips.
He’s looking like his last name -- a bit pasty and white.

His eyes wander to the front of the building. Where waits...

... A STUNNING YOUNG WOMAN. She’s dark-skinned -- from India

perhaps. Maybe she’s even a model. She wears a bright green
blouse that practically glows out there in the sunshine.

Jesus, she is amazing. She stands beside a dark green BMW,

waiting for the vatos to finish with it. She peers off into
the distance, leaning back on one shapely leg as she talks on
her cell phone. She never once turns our way.

She’s hard not to stare at. And Walt does -- still breathing
hard. He keeps staring even as he COUGHS into his fist.

The longer he looks at her... the more wistful he becomes.

We see fascination and even longing in his eyes.

BAM-BAM! Walt startles as Bogdan RAPS on the interior window

behind him -- get back to work. Walt snaps out of his
reverie, looking sheepish. He yanks back on the handtruck...

... Then THUD! He lets it fall forward again. He’s COUGHING

loud and ragged now. Whereas before it would quickly come
and go, this jag is full-on, tubercular PERCUSSIVENESS.

Walt finally stifles it... but now he’s WHEEZING for breath.
He takes a couple of stumble-steps. He rubs his mouth,
sneaks his fingertips to his carotid just under his ear.

Walt’s eyelids flicker and close -- and he COLLAPSES.

WIDE on this scene: nobody even notices. The Stunning Young

Woman climbs in her BMW and motors off into the sunshine,
Walt lying face-down in the darkness behind her. Off this...

END ACT ONE

 18.

ACT TWO

A26 EXT. HIGHWAY OVERPASS - DAY A26

A snaggle of overpasses, painted terra cotta and turquoise,
stand out against the sky. Sirens wailing, lights flashing,
an AMBULANCE trundles into frame like an ant on a branch.

26 INT. AMBULANCE - DAY 26

Walt is conscious again. He seems okay. And indeed:

WALT
This is so embarrassing.
(a beat)
I am fine. Honestly.

He lies atop the locked-down gurney, his shirt pulled open

and various monitors attached to his bare skin. An EMT
listens with a stethoscope to various places on his chest.

WALT
It’s just some bug going around. *
First my wife had it, then my son, *
now me. It’s just a chest cold. *
(hopeful smile)
Couldn’t you just... drop me on a
corner somewhere?

The EMT gives a good-natured snort.

EMT
Uhhhhh, no. Sorry.

WALT
(a beat; softly)
I don’t have the world’s best
insurance.

The EMT isn’t really listening. He’s busy trying to figure

out something he’s hearing through his stethoscope.

EMT
Take a couple of deep breaths for
me, please.

Walt does as he’s told. Meanwhile, a RINGTONE can be heard.

Walt reaches in his pants and fishes out his cell phone.

“HOME” is displayed. Walt considers... then SILENCES it.

The EMT notices.
 18A.

EMT
Is there anybody you need us to
contact for you?

WALT
Oh, god no.

That’s the very last thing Walt wants. The EMT moves his
stethoscope to yet another spot. He listens, then frowns.

EMT
Mr. White, are you a smoker?

WALT
No. Never.
(a wary beat)
Why do you ask?

The EMT averts his eyes, says nothing. Off Walt, becoming a
little unsettled by the question...
 19.

27 INT. MRI SUITE - DAY 27

We’re staring straight down at a swath of beige plastic
track. With a WHIRR of electric motors, into frame slides
Walt’s head and shoulders, UPSIDE-DOWN.

He wears a yellow cotton gown. He stares straight at us.

Even upside-down, we can gauge the concern in his eyes.

WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP! -- goes the machine, blanging like a

trip-hammer. Terrifyingly loud. Off Walt, breathing deep:

28 INT. DR. BELKNAP’S OFFICE - DAY 28

Days later. Walt, in his street clothes, sits in a leather
chair. He’s staring almost directly into camera.

SILENCE. Up from it rises a faint sort of buzzy, shimmery

TINNITUS sound. It’s the RINGING in Walt’s ears. It grows
louder as we slowly CREEP IN on Walt’s face. He stares at:

Walt’s POV -- DOCTOR BELKNAP. Dr. Belknap is a balding man

in his late fifties. On a good day, he’s maybe avuncular.
He’s sitting behind his desk, looking right at us, talking in
slight SLOW-MOTION. We don’t hear a single word he’s saying.
We only hear the buzzy RINGING.

CLOSER POV -- we tilt down from Belknap’s face, his moving

lips, to his doctor’s coat. On the pristine white of his
lapel, there’s a spot of yellow MUSTARD. We fixate on it.

Suddenly:

DR. BELKNAP
-- Mr. White? Are you listening?
 20.

We’ve snapped out of it. The SOUND in the room is normal.

No more SLOW-MOTION. Walt looks up from the man’s lapel.

WALT
Yeah.

DR. BELKNAP
Did you..? You understood what
I’ve said to you?

WALT
Yeah. Lung cancer. Inoperable.

The doctor studies him very closely, waiting for a reaction.

DR. BELKNAP
I’m sorry, I-I... I just need to
make sure you fully understand --

WALT
-- Best-case scenario, with chemo,
I’ll live maybe another two years.
(off the man’s gaze)
It’s just, you’ve got mustard on
your... you’ve got mustard there.

Walt points. Belknap glances down at the spot on his lapel,

then back up at Walt. He has no idea what to say to that.

Off Walt, looking very matter-of-fact... disconcertingly so:

29 OMITTED 29
 21.

30 INT. WHITE HOUSE - KITCHEN - AFTERNOON 30

A mortgage bill lies open atop the counter. Skyler stands
talking on the phone.

SKYLER
Absolutely. I sent it to you on
the third. It’s number... wait a
minute, let me get my checkbook.

She cups a hand over the phone, does nothing. After a beat:

SKYLER
Here it is. It’s check number
1148. So my records show I paid
that, and I certainly don’t feel we
owe any late...
(listens)
Alright. I’ll check with my bank.
I don’t know, if the post office
lost it or... alright then. Let me
look into that. Thank you.

Walt enters on the last half of this. Skyler hangs up.

SKYLER
Hey.

WALT
Hey.

Having found a beer in the fridge, his fingers tremble a

little as he twists off the cap. Skyler doesn’t notice --
she’s sifting through a stack of bills.

Walt sits at the table. He drinks deep, rubs his mouth.

SKYLER
(studying a bill)
Did you use the Mastercard last
month? $15.88 at Staples?

WALT
Uh.
(managing to focus)
Yeah. We needed printer paper.

SKYLER
Walt, the Mastercard’s the one we
don’t use.
 22.

Walt nods, feeling overwhelmed. Clearly, Skyler doesn’t know

anything about his doctor’s appointment. Even if Walt wants
to tell her, something stops him. He sips his beer, stares.

SKYLER
So how was your day?

WALT
Kinda... you know. I dunno. Fine.

SKYLER
I got you a little something.

She briefly steps out of sight. When she comes back --

Clunk! Clunk! She sets down two big cans of PAINT.

SKYLER
How ‘bout it, Walt? Is that
bedroom gonna get painted in my
lifetime?

Walt stares at the cans before him, too numb to object.

31 INT. WHITE HOUSE - SPARE BEDROOM - LATE AFTERNOON 31

Later. A drop cloth covers the floor. The furniture has
been shoved to the center of the room. No paint is on the
walls yet -- Walt is still taking down all his diplomas.

Behind him, Walter, Jr. clicks into frame in the doorway.

The teenager watches unseen as Walt lifts his Los Alamos
plaque off its hook and holds it in his hands, staring at it.

WALTER, JR.
Dad? Are -- you -- alright?

WALT
What?
(glancing over)
I’m fine. Yeah. Why?

Walter, Jr. shrugs and glances around the room. He’s a

perceptive kid.

WALTER, JR.
You, like -- want some help?

Walt stares at him a beat, then nods. Walter, Jr. steps into
the room and his dad hands him a roller brush on a pole.

Walt kneels to pry open the paint can. Off him, glancing up
once more at his son:
 22A.

A32 INT. CAR WASH - OFFICE - AFTERNOON A32

A new day. No customers at the register. Walt is standing
here on autopilot. The BUZZ has returned to his head.

Bogdan is in b.g., arguing on the phone in Romanian. The

sound is muted. We barely hear him. We don’t know what he’s
yelling about -- it’s pointless, doesn’t matter. We’re on
Walt, who simply stares into space.

CLOSER and CLOSER on Walt, who blinks now. Frowns. It’s

like the clouds are finally parting. The scales are falling
away from his eyes. All those cliches. It fully, completely
dawns on him now...

... His days are numbered. He is gonna fucking DIE.

What to do about it? How should he spend his remaining time?

While he ponders this, Bogdan steps up behind him.

BOGDAN
Walter. Walter. Walter.
(Walt turns and looks)
I’m short-handed. I need you
outside doing wipe-down.

WALT
What?

BOGDAN
I need you outside doing wipe-down.
Are you here to work or to be
staring into space? --

Walt stares at his boss. Finally, the dam quietly breaks.

WALT
Fuck you, Bogdan.

BOGDAN
(stunned)
What?

WALT
Fuck you and your eyebrows.

With that, Walt turns on his heel. As he stalks out, he runs

his hand down a long shelf of MERCHANDISE, knocking it onto
the floor. Travel mugs, air fresheners, leather cleaner, the
whole schmear goes bouncing off the tile as Walt strides out
the door, never looking back.
 22B.

Employees stand and watch. As seen through the windows,

Bogdan goes jogging after Walt -- who is already in his car.
Walt’s Aztek backs into a towel cart before it goes banging
down off a curb and screeching away at high speed.

32 EXT. WHITE HOUSE - DAWN 32

Early morning. A faint glow in the sky. Silence except for
the THWACK... THWACK of the NEWSPAPER GUY cruising past.
 23.

33 EXT. WHITE HOUSE - BACKYARD - DAWN 33

CLOSE ON the unnaturally blue water of a swimming pool.
PLINK! A pebble breaks the surface, sinking to the bottom.
Ripples radiate. PLINK! Another one hits and sinks.

WIDER -- this tiny backyard has an in-ground pool which takes

up most of the space back here. It hasn’t been swum in for
months. Dead leaves plaster the bottom.

Walt sits alone at a patio table, bundled in an old bathrobe,

absently flicking pebbles into the pool. Not watching where
they land. He’s been up all night, sitting right here.

He stares into space, deep in thought. Considering something

very carefully. Chewing it over, but good.

Coming to a decision, he rises abruptly and steps inside the

house. We hold on this empty frame a beat until he steps
back out with the CORDLESS PHONE.

Walt dials and puts the phone to his ear. Standing by the
edge of the pool, reflected in it, he speaks very quietly.

WALT
Hank? Hey, it’s Walt. I didn’t
wake you, did I?
(a beat)
Good. Listen, I’ve been thinking
about your offer of a ride-along.

34 EXT. COOKIE-CUTTER NEIGHBORHOOD - MORNING 34

A different morning -- these things take time to set up.
We’re in a neighborhood a bit higher-end than Walt’s. Newer.
None of the houses are more than ten years old.

A minivan is parked on the street. Inconspicuous.

HANK (O.S.)
Last house on the right. Not the
two-story, the one next to it.
Kinda... whaddya call that, green?

GOMEZ (O.S.)
Sage.

HANK (O.S.)
“Sage?” Whaddya, work at the
fuckin’ Pottery Barn? Jesus.
 24.

35 INT. MINIVAN - MORNING - CONTINUOUS 35

Hank sits behind the wheel. Agent Gomez sits beside him.

GOMEZ
“Sage.” That’s the word for it.
My fault the only word your dumb
ass knows is “green?”

HANK
“Cheese-dick.” I know that one.

Smirking, Hank points out the TARGET HOUSE to Walt, who sits
in the back seat in an ill-fitting bulletproof vest.

HANK
Anyways -- “sage.” See it?

An unremarkable house, a block down the street. Walt nods.

WALT
So what tells you it’s a meth lab?

HANK
Just our snitch. Says some dude
who goes by “Cap’n Cook” lives up
to his name in there. Got himself
a three pound flask and keeps it
bubbling day and night. Says he
always adds a dash of chili powder.
(to Gomez)
Ah, you exuberant Mexicans.

GOMEZ
Uh-uh. “Cap’n Cook?” -- that’s a
white boy’s name. Dopey as hell.

HANK
Yeah? I got twenty bucks says he’s
a beaner.

GOMEZ
You’re on.

The both pony up their money on the dash -- Hank a twenty,

Gomez two tens. A SCHOOL BUS chugs into frame, driving past.

HANK
Ah, here we go. Finally.
(into his radio)
School bus is clear. You got the
green light.
 25.

An affirmation comes back. Hank starts his engine.

HANK
(smiling, to Walt)
Watch this. This makes ‘em shit.

Out of the distance, we hear a BIG ENGINE RUMBLING our way.

A black Navigator cruises past with FOUR D.E.A. AGENTS --
black BDUs, Kevlar helmets, carbines, respirator masks, the
whole nine yards -- standing on the running boards, two on
each side. Not driving too fast. Cautious.

Hank follows in his minivan so that Walt can see. Hank hums
Ride Of The Valkyries, channeling “Apocalypse Now.”

Walt’s POV: as seen through the windshield, the Navigator

stops at the curb next door to the target house. The four
agents -- plus the driver and one other guy in the front
seat, making a total of SIX -- quickly stack up tight and
move toward the house, rifles at depressed low ready.
Extremely practiced. The last man lugs a battering ram.

HANK
Meth labs are nasty on a good day --
but mix that stuff wrong and you
wind up with mustard gas.

WALT
Phosphine gas, I think.

HANK
Yeah, exactly. One whiff’ll kill
you. That’s why the respirators.

Walt nods, watches the entry team move up on the house.

36 INT. TARGET HOUSE - CONTINUOUS 36

This house is completely DEVOID of furniture -- no dining
room table, no sofa, nothing on the walls. Not even a fridge
in the kitchen. Yet, empty as it is, it’s still a shithole.

There’s filthy clothes, overflowing garbage, rotting pizza

boxes... along with stacked cannisters of plumber’s lye and
camp stove fuel. A rambling, Rube Goldberg lab of hoses and
buckets stands out against the Formica of the kitchen.

A hard-faced man, EMILIO, sits hunched atop a five-gallon

plastic bucket flipped upside-down. Bellied-up to a card
table, he listens to headphones -- oblivious to the BLACK
SILHOUETTES creeping past the shuttered windows behind him.
 25A.

He’s got an enormous mound of RED POWDER in front of him, and

an even bigger pile of MATCHBOOKS on the floor.
 26.

He scrapes off the striker strips and collects the powder.

This is a source of red phosphorus for meth production.

CRASH! The patio door SHATTERS behind him as a BREACHING

SHOTGUN ruptures the glass. Feds pour in to the left, right
and center, pointing rifles and breathing through their masks
like Darth Vader. Emilio tries to run for it, but doesn’t
get far. The agents tackle him in the kitchen.

37 EXT. TARGET HOUSE - MORNING 37

Hank, Gomez and Walt wait in the minivan. The RADIO erupts.

AGENT (RADIO V.O.)

House is clear. We’ve got one
suspect in custody.

HANK
Copy that. The suspect... might he
be of the Latin persuasion?

AGENT (RADIO V.O.)

Uhhhh. Driver’s license says
“Emilio Koyama.”

GOMEZ
Asian. Pay up, sucker.

Hank slaps his hand down on his own twenty before Gomez can
grab it.

HANK
Uh-uh. First name “Emilio?”
That’s a half-a-beaner, my man.
I’ll let you off for ten.

Hank takes back his twenty -- plus one of Gomez’s sawbucks.

HANK
Cheer up. You people still got
J. Lo.
(to Walt)
Don’t get me wrong -- crystal meth
is democratic as hell. There’s
plenty of scumwad, white trash
peckerwoods to go with all the
Afro-Americans, Oriental-Americans,
Hispano-Americans. I just like
taking Gomez’s money.
(big grin)
So how you doing back there, buddy?
(MORE)
 26A.
HANK(CONT'D)
This sure beats the hell outta
clapping erasers, huh?

WALT
Hank? You think I might get to go
inside? See the actual lab?

HANK
Uh. Yeah, tell you what -- we’re
gonna go peek our heads in, check
it out first. Stay here a minute.
 27.

Hank and Gomez exit the minivan, leaving Walt behind.

Walt’s pleasant demeanor fades. Spending time with Hank

gives him a headache. While feds come and go on the lawn,
Walt’s attention drifts to the house next door.

He double-takes, noticing... a high WINDOW get opened. It’s

out of sight of the D.E.A. agents. Only Walt can see as...

... A DUDE dressed only in underpants backs out the window.

He slides down the porch roof, then tumbles to the ground.

This guy is white, late 20s. His sneakers come flying,

hitting him in the head. Above him, a naked HOUSEWIFE leans
out, boobs dangling, frantically tossing him his clothes.

The guy dresses at mach speed, peeking around the corner of

the house. He’s desperate not to be seen by the feds. Walt
watches, jaw slackening. He recognizes this kid. Knows him.

WALT
(under his breath)
Oh my god. Pinkman..?

It’s like a psychic connection -- at this moment, the kid,

JESSE LEE PINKMAN, feels eyes on him. He turns and looks.

He frowns at Walt -- who the hell is that?! But then it

finally dawns on Jesse who Walt is, and he’s shocked.

Staring at Walt, Jesse swallows hard, puts a finger to his

lips -- shhh. Keeping one eye on the D.E.A., he hurries to
an old Daytona parked on the curb.

As it creeps away, Walt notes the license plate: “THE CAPN.”

Nobody sees any of this but Walt. He climbs out of the back
of the minivan, watching Jesse go. He can’t believe it.

Hank surprises Walt, having walked up behind him carrying a

shoebox in a big evidence bag. It’s stuffed full of CASH.

HANK
Hey, check it out, Walt -- these
assholes like their shoeboxes
better’n Bank Of America.

Walt stares at all that beautiful green, turns and glances

back down the street. The Daytona is gone.

HANK
Whatcha looking at?
 28.

WALT
(a beat)
Nothing.

HANK
Wanna come meet a bad guy?

Walt nods, follows him to the house. Glances back one time.
Clearly, he’s not gonna tell Hank what he knows.

38 EXT. COUNTRY CLUB NEIGHBORHOOD - NIGHT 38

We’re in an old neighborhood of big manses and gnarled trees
right out of “The Wizard Of Oz.” One particular house is a
peculiar Mediterranean with a high wall around the backyard.
It looks meant for a grandma with a whole lotta cats.

Headlights. The nose of an extremely ugly American car pulls

into frame, parking at the curb. Walt climbs out, staring up
at the house in silhouette.

39 EXT. MEDITERRANEAN - BACKYARD - NIGHT 39

“THE CAPN” license plate gets covered -- Jesse Pinkman is out
here in the darkness, hurriedly pulling a tarp over his car.

He’s antsy as hell. Hearing FOOTSTEPS, he grabs a tire iron,

crouches down behind the car. The FOOTSTEPS slow, stop.

WALT (O.S.)
It’s me. I’m alone.

Walt appears out of the blackness. Jesse slowly rises.

JESSE
How’d you find me?

WALT
You’re still in our filing system.
Your aunt owns this place, right?

JESSE
I own it.

Walt nods. Whatever. He glances at the tarp.

WALT
Nobody’s looking for you.

JESSE
Why you here? What do you want?
 29.

WALT
I was curious.
(a beat; shrug)
Honestly, I never expected you to
amount to much. Methamphetamine,
though. I didn’t picture that.
(off the silence)
Lotta money in it, huh?

Jesse peers into the darkness beyond Walt, wondering who else
is out there. His hand tightens around the tire iron.

JESSE
I don’t know what you’re talking
about.

WALT
No?

JESSE
Not a clue.

WALT
Huh. Cap’n Cook? That’s not you?
Like I said, no one’s looking for
you. I didn’t tell anyone.

Jesse grows more agitated. His voice stays low.

JESSE
I don’t know what you think you’re
doing here, Mr. White. If you’re
planning on giving me some bowl
winder about getting right with
Jesus and turning myself in --

WALT
No. Not really.

JESSE
High school was a long time ago.
You ain’t “Welcome Back, Kotter,”
so step off. No speeches.

Jesse points the tire iron for emphasis. Walt should leave,
but he doesn’t. Instead...

WALT
Short speech. You lost your
partner today. What’s-his-name,
Emilio? Emilio’s going to prison.
The D.E.A. took your money, your
lab. You got nothing. Square one.
(MORE)
 30.
WALT(CONT'D)
But you know the business, and I
know the chemistry. I’m thinking.
Maybe you and I could partner up.

Long, pregnant silence. Jesse can’t believe his ears.

JESSE
You -- wanna cook crystal meth.
(off Walt’s nod)
You. You and me.

Walt means it. Jesse breaks into a crooked, spreading grin.

Before he can laugh out loud --

WALT
Either that, or I turn you in.

Jesse’s smile fades. Off Walt, serious as a heart attack...

END ACT TWO

 31.

ACT THREE

40 INT. WHITE HOUSE - KITCHEN - AFTERNOON 40

Brown shipping tape gets pulled off its roll with a SKRRECK!
Skyler seals a cardboard box, readies it for the post office.

The kitchen table is stacked with tschotskes and bubble wrap.

Skyler’s sister Marie helps pack. She holds up an item.

MARIE
What the hell is this?

SKYLER
Damned if I know. I described it
as a “mid-century objet d’art.”

MARIE
And somebody bought it?

SKYLER
Some guy in Minneapolis. Fourteen
dollars plus shipping.

Skyler is tickled. Marie shrugs and bubble-wraps the objet.

MARIE
At this rate, in fifty or sixty
years you’ll be rich.

That’s the dynamic -- Marie is constantly yitzing her older

sister. She’s just naturally negative. And competitive.

MARIE *
So how goes the novel? *
SKYLER *
It’s not actually a novel. Which -- *
MARIE *
Wait, you’re not writing a novel? *
You told me you were. *
SKYLER *
Short stories. I said if I *
eventually have enough good ones, *
maybe I’d try and publish a *
collection. *
MARIE *
Huh. Do those sell? I just think *
a novel would be easier to sell. *
 31A.

SKYLER *
Yeah, well. Maybe so. *
MARIE *
You ever want me to read something, *
I could critique it for you. *
SKYLER *
Uh, no. I think really I’m not at *
the stage where... no. *
MARIE
Open offer. Hey, what’s up with *
Walt lately?

SKYLER
He’s fine. What do you mean? *
MARIE
He just seems... I don’t know.
Quieter than usual.

SKYLER
Turning fifty is a big deal. I
know I’m not looking forward to it.
(smirk)
You -- are gonna be a basket-case.

MARIE
So, it’s a mid-life crisis.
 32.

SKYLER
No. He’s just. Quiet.

MARIE
(a beat)
How’s the sex?

SKYLER
Marie! Jesus!

Marie holds up her hands. Whatever. Irked, Skyler runs her

tape gun over the top of a box -- SKKKRRRECK.

MARIE
(mumbles)
Guess that answers that.

41 INT. HIGH SCHOOL - SUPPLY ROOM - AFTERNOON 41

School has ended for the day. Alone in here, Walt hurries
around grabbing FLASKS, BEAKERS, TUBING -- anything he can
get his hands on. He loads it all in a big cardboard box.

He pauses, hit by a ragged bout of COUGHING. He sniffs and

presses his fist to the dull ache in his right side.

Walt hefts his box full of purloined school property. He

carries it to the door, pauses to peek out. No witnesses.

Walt flicks off the classroom lights with his back. Out the
door he goes. It hisses closed, leaving us in DARKNESS.

A42 EXT. HIGH SCHOOL - AFTERNOON A42

Walt hurries down the steps with his stolen booty. A quick
COUGH and sniffle don’t even slow him down now as he crosses
the deserted quad, headed for his car.

42 EXT. MEDITERRANEAN - BACKYARD - AFTERNOON 42

Jesse sits at a patio table, drinking a long-neck beer and
glowering. Walt’s Aztek putters into view, reverses and
backs into Jesse’s driveway. Walt climbs out, jazzed.

WALT
Hey. Look what I got.

Walt opens his hatchback. Jesse doesn’t budge. Walt stares

at him -- a teacher staring at a recalcitrant student --
until Jesse sighs and slouches closer.
 33.

Walt lifts a blanket, revealing his CARGO. Lots of goodies.

Jesse peers at the stolen lab gear, pulls something out.

WALT
Ah. Kjeldahl-style recovery flask,
800 milliliters. Very nice. You
got your Griffin beakers, you got
your Erlenmeyer. But check this
out -- the pièce de résistance.
Round bottom boiling flask, 5000
milliliters.

Big. Jesse wipes his nose with his sleeve, refusing to be

impressed. He points to something else instead.

JESSE
I cook in one of those. A big one.

WALT
This? This is an volumetric flask.
You wouldn’t cook in one of these.

JESSE
Yeah. I do.

WALT
No, you don’t. A volumetric flask
is for general mixing and
titration. You do not apply heat
to a volumetric flask. That’s what
the boiling flask is for. Did you
not learn anything in my chemistry
class?

JESSE
No. You flunked me, remember?
Prick? And let me tell you
something else -- this ain’t
chemistry. This is art. Cooking
is art. The shit I cook is the
bomb, so don’t be telling me!

WALT
The shit you cook is shit.
I saw your setup. Ridiculous.
(firm)
You and I will not make garbage.
We will produce a chemically pure
and stable product that performs as
advertised. No adulterants.
No baby formula. No chili powder.
 34.

JESSE
Chili P’s my signature!

WALT
Not anymore it’s not.

JESSE
Yeah, well we’ll see about that.
The hell’s all this?

He pulls out heavy LAB APRONS, GLOVES, RESPIRATORS. These

are the respirators we saw Walt and Jesse wearing in the
Teaser (Jesse was Walt’s unconscious PASSENGER, by the way).

WALT
Lab safety. We’re also gonna have
an emergency eye wash station.
These chemicals and their fumes are
toxic -- or didn’t you know that?

Jesse holds up an apron, snorts.

JESSE
Hey, you can dress up like a faggot
if you want. Not me.

Walt glares at him. Jesse roots through Walt’s SUPPLIES.

JESSE
Stove fuel... not enough of it.
Lye. You got the generic crap.
Iodine... matches... not my brand.

WALT
Somehow, we’ll manage.

Jesse holds up a single box of SINUS TABLETS. He’s amused.

JESSE
The hell is this s’posed to be?
We’ll need like, fifty of these.

WALT
Wal-Mart only lets me buy one at a
time. I’ll just keep going back.

JESSE
Uh. No. You won’t. What are you,
kidding me?! You don’t think maybe
they’re gonna notice that? You
freakin’ retard?!
 35.

Walt is simultaneously chastened and offended. Quietly:

WALT
Let’s dispense right now with the
name-calling.

JESSE
Oh, pardon me. I’m sorry I broke
decorum at your little freaking...
tea party, or whatever it is you
think you’re having here. Your fun
and games.
(low and heated)
This here is an activity you take --
serious.

Walt suppresses his anger, stares at him evenly.

WALT
Life and death.

43 EXT. MEDITERRANEAN - GARAGE - AFTERNOON 43

A bit later. Chemicals, labware -- the last of the carload
of stuff Walt brought gets packed into a back corner of
Jesse’s messy old garage. Jesse covers it with a tarp.

JESSE
This doesn’t stay more than a day.

WALT
What, aren’t we gonna cook here?

JESSE
No, we’re not gonna cook here.
This is my house! I don’t shit
where I eat.

WALT
Then where are we going to work?

JESSE
You tell me. This is your deal,
man. You wanna smoke it up, smoke
it up at your house.
(off Walt’s look)
Nah. I didn’t think so. Oh, well.

Silence as Walt considers. Stubs at the dirt with his heel.

 36.

WALT
What if we rent a self-storage
place? One of those little orange
garages? Worked out of there?

JESSE
Nah, they’re onto that. They got
dogs that sniff around.
(grudgingly)
RV. That’s what you want.

WALT
What, like a Winnebago?

JESSE
I know a dude wants to sell his.
He just goes camping with it -- but
a mobile meth lab’d be the bomb.
You can drive way out in the
boonies. Be all evasive.
(gauging Walt’s interest)
Eighty-five hundred’d get you in.

Off Walt, already calculating how to swing this:

44 OMITTED 44

A45 EXT. CREDIT UNION - AFTERNOON A45

“Mesa Credit Union,” it says on the sign. The automatic
doors slide open and Walt exits into the sunlight carrying a
fat BANK ENVELOPE. His whole life is right there in his
hands -- his life savings, that is.

We PAN around with Walt as he heads across the lot to where

his Aztek and Jesse’s Daytona are parked side by side.
 37.

45 EXT. CREDIT UNION PARKING LOT - AFTERNOON 45

CLOSE ON the fat envelope of CASH. Jesse quickly counts it.
He sits in his Daytona, Walt standing beside his door.

JESSE
It’s not even seven grand. My guy
wants eighty-five.

Walt shrugs -- too bad.

WALT
It’s all I’ve got in the world.
(a beat)
You’re a drug dealer. Negotiate.

Jesse thinks about it, shoves the money in his pants.

JESSE
You’re not how I remember you from
class. I mean, like, not at all.

Walt checks his watch.

WALT
I gotta go.

JESSE
Wait. Hold up. Tell me why you’re
doing this. Seriously.

WALT
Why do you do it?

JESSE
Money, mainly.

WALT
There you have it.

JESSE
Nah. Come on, man! Some straight
like you, giant stick up his ass...
all a sudden at age, what, sixty
he’s just gonna break bad?

WALT
I’m fifty.

JESSE
It’s weird, is all. It doesn’t
compute. If you’re like...
(MORE)
 37A.
JESSE(CONT'D)
crazy or something... if you’ve
gone crazy, or depressed. I’m just
saying. That’s something I need to
know about. That affects me.
 38.

Walt stares at Jesse a long time, considers how to answer.

WALT
I am... awake.

JESSE
(a confused beat)
What?

Walt walks off.

WALT
Buy the RV. We start tomorrow.

Walt climbs in his old Aztek, starts it up. Off Jesse,

confounded, watching him go:

46 INT. DRESSING ROOM - LATE AFTERNOON 46

It’s tight in here. Familiar CRUTCHES lean against the wall.
Walter, Jr. sits on a bench, struggling to pull a stiff new
pair of off-brand jeans over his bare legs.

SKYLER (O.S.)
How you coming in there?

WALTER, JR.
Fine.

Anything but. Young Walter works at it valiantly, but the

design of this room is giving him trouble. He won’t ask for
help and his folks know it. After a while:

SKYLER (O.S.)
You want me or your Dad?

WALTER, JR.
(gives up; annoyed)
Dad.

The door opens and Walt enters. Not a word is said as Walt
leans down and his son wraps his arms around his neck. While
Walter, Jr. holds on, his dad lifts him a little and works
the jeans up onto his thighs and waist.

It’s intimate in a way that’s tough on a teenager, but

Walter, Jr. keeps his dignity. Walt handles it well, too.

WALT
How do these fit? You like these?

Walter, Jr. shrugs, nods. Walt zips up his son, buttons him.
 39.

47 INT. CLOTHING STORE - LATE AFTERNOON 47

Minutes later. Not even a Sears or a Target -- this is some
storefront bargain outlet. Walter, Jr. stands before a
mirror, balancing on his crutches as he appraises his new
jeans. Skyler and Walt are behind him. Walt’s thoughts are
distant as he watches his son.

SKYLER
Don’t get ‘em if they’re too tight.

WALTER, JR.
They’re--pre--shrunk.

SKYLER
They always say pre-shrunk, then
they shrink anyway. You sure you
don’t want the relaxed fit? That’s
supposed to be the style now.

As Walter, Jr. considers, we hear a faint o.s. COMMOTION.

JOCK (O.S.)
Big boy pants. I got new big boy
pants. Mommmeeee...

Walt snaps out of it, turns and looks. Thirty feet away,
partially hidden by clothing racks, are three GUYS not long
out of high school. They’re laughing hard, making only a
token effort to keep their voices low.

The biggest among them, a tall JOCK, is gimping around,

playing “retard” and cracking up the other two. They glance
our way -- it’s clear they’re making fun of WALTER, JR.

JOCK
Mommmeee, zip up my big boy pants.

Choked LAUGHTER and WHISPERS. Walter, Jr. hears. He sets

his jaw and ignores it, his face burning.

Skyler is livid. She’s about to go give these guys bloody

hell, but Walt touches a hand to her arm and stops her.

WALT
Don’t.

Before she can ask why not, Walt walks off in the opposite
direction. He disappears through a back doorway. Is he
looking for the manager? What’s he doing?

Skyler is frustrated he won’t stand up for their son. Until:

 40.

NEW ANGLE -- the jock is still flogging the joke as WALT

enters the front door behind him. Unbeknownst to everyone,
Walt has quickly looped around the outside of the store,
stalking up behind these guys.

JOCK
Oh no. Oh no. I pinched a loaf in
my big boy pa--

WHAM! Walt kicks his heel into the back of the jock’s KNEE,
dropping the guy to the floor. Before the startled jock can
get up, Walt stands full-weight on his CALF. Leverage.

JOCK
AAHH! Whu -- what are you DOING?!

WALT
What’s the matter, Chief? You
having trouble walking there? Huh?

JOCK
AAAHH! GET OFF ME! --

Walt finally raises his heel. The jock scrambles to his

feet, towering over Walt.

JOCK
I’ll mess you up, man!

The kid’s nearly a head taller, 240. Doesn’t mean jack-shit

to Walt, who gets in his face. Walt looks slightly crazy.

WALT
Well, don’t keep me waiting.

The jock hesitates, backs off. His two friends are spooked,
as well -- tugging at him to leave.

JOCK
(under his breath)
Psycho.

B.M.O.C. limps off with his tail between his legs. Skyler
and Walter, Jr. stand amazed. They’ve never seen anything
like it. Certainly not from their husband and dad.

Standing here, Walt feels a kind of power -- one that’s

brought on by an absence of fear.

Off him, realizing more and more that he likes it:

END ACT THREE

 41.

ACT FOUR

48 EXT. PASTURELAND - AFTERNOON 48

Familiar to us from the Teaser, the WINNEBAGO is parked off a
dirt road. Middle of nowhere. Nobody around for miles.

The Winnie’s door opens. Walt steps out, looks around.

Breathes deep and COUGHS some. He’s got a couple of green
coat hangers he impatiently taps against his legs. Waiting.

High up behind him climbs Jesse, cresting into frame. Jesse

calls out from atop a tall sandstone outcropping.

JESSE
Nothing but cows. Got some big
cow-house way over that way, like
two miles. But I don’t see nobody.

WALT
“Cow-house?”

JESSE
(shrug)
Where they live. The cows.
Whatever, man. Shit yeah, let’s
cook here.

While the kid scrambles down, Walt takes off his shirt and
neatly hangs it on a hanger. Jesse wanders up in time to see
Walt climb out of his PANTS. Jesse stops dead in his tracks.

JESSE
What. Are you doing?

WALT
These are my good clothes. I can’t
go home smelling like a meth lab.

Jesse shakes his head, weirded-out. Walt, stripped down to

his UNDERPANTS, hangs his garments on the side-view mirror,
then climbs up into the Winnebago.

WALT
C’mon, daylight’s burning.

He disappears inside. Jesse considers, then reaches in his

jacket for... a MINI-CAMCORDER (the one we remember from the
Teaser). Grinning, he follows Walt into the RV.
 42.

49 BLACK SCREEN 49
With a DING, up comes a live VIDEO IMAGE of Walt, his back to
us. He wears a lab apron, rubber gloves and safety glasses.
His respirator is propped on his forehead. We are:

INT. WINNEBAGO - AFTERNOON

And we’re watching Jesse’s CAMCORDER POV of Walt at work.

Walt is crushing scads of sinus pills in a mortar and pestle.
This place is packed tight with lab equipment and supplies.

We hear Jesse SNICKERING o.s. He ZOOMS IN on Walt’s

underpants, which show through the back of his apron.

JESSE (O.S.)
This is a good look for you.
You’re maybe only the world’s
second-biggest homo.

WALT
Shut up and give me a hand here.

JESSE (O.S.)
Oh yeah, work it. Work it, Baby!

Walt glances back at us, notices the camcorder. Shit! He

reaches straight into lens, tussling for it. It goes BLACK.

WALT (O.S.)
Gimme that damned --

The screen goes to BLUE. BAM! -- as we bring up MUSIC:

50 INT. WINNEBAGO - AFTERNOON - MONTAGE 50

Edited to the BEAT of some very hip, driving SONG, we see
various ANGLES and JUMP-CUTS of Walt cooking meth, assisted
by Jesse. Days are compressed into seconds here.

For those of us who grew up watching “The A-Team,” this is

that scene they’d always do where the A-Team builds a tank or
a jet plane out of spare parts. Same feeling, same energy --
except here, our guys are making highly illegal drugs.

Without turning this into a how-to video, we watch as:

-- Powdered sinus tablets get soaked in a solvent, separated

out as a paste and a liquid, then reduced down over heat.

-- Veterinary iodine is transformed into hydriodic acid.

 43.

-- Red phosphorus is combined with hydriodic acid and mixed

with the pseudoephedrine culled from the sinus pills.

-- The whole mess gets cooked into freebase meth oil.

-- Salt, muriatic acid, and bits of aluminum foil are mixed

in a gas can. It gets connected to a length of garden hose.

-- hydrogen chloride gas bubbles through the hose and down

into a big bucket full of freebase. White methamphetamine
hydrochloride crystals float to the top and get skimmed off.

Throughout all this, Walt is working with the utmost gravity

and attention to detail -- as if he were a scientist on the
Manhattan Project. As the cook progresses, we get little
hints that Jesse is taking it more seriously, too.

Seeing the way Walt works, seeing that he really knows his
stuff, Jesse acts more respectful. He even starts wearing
his safety gear. Clearly, he’s learning from Walt.

51 EXT. WINNEBAGO - AFTERNOON 51

The little RV sits dwarfed by a butte. Toxic YELLOW SMOKE
wafts through a vent in the roof. It curls up into the sky,
filtering through the red afternoon sunset.

End MUSIC. End MONTAGE.

52 INT. WINNEBAGO - EVENING 52

The cook is finally done. Walt sits in his apron, exhausted.
He rubs at the red line around his face left by his gas mask,
trying to make it go away.

They’ve made about a pound of fat, snowy white crystals.

Jesse carefully dips into their product with a razor blade,
lifting out a sample. He taps it onto a sheet of yellow
paper, swirling it around. His eyes are wide.

He’s a whole new Jesse now. Subdued. Awed. It’s as if he’s

seen the Holy Grail.

JESSE
This is... this is glass grade.
You got... Jesus, you got crystals
in here a quarter-inch long.
Longer. This is pure glass.
(turns to him)
You’re... you’re an artist. This
is art. Mr. White...
 44.

He’s run out of superlatives. He’s actually tearing up.

Walt is surprised by his emotion.

WALT
It’s just basic chemistry.
(off his awe)
But thank you, Jesse. I’m glad
it’s acceptable.

JESSE
Acceptable? You’re the goddamned
Iron Chef! Every jibbhead from
here to Timbuktu’s gonna want a
taste! --
(dips some more)
Dude, I gotta try some of this.

Uncomfortable with that idea, Walt intercedes.

WALT
No. We only sell it.

JESSE
Since when?
(Walt puts it away)
Man, you been watching too much
“Miami Vice.”

WALT
(checks his watch)
So, how do we proceed?

JESSE
We cook more tomorrow. Meantime,
I know just the guy to talk to.

53 INT. KRAZY-8’S HOUSE - DAY 53

High floor-to-ceiling windows look out over the Rio Grande.
This is a thirty year-old design house that has desperately
gone to seed. It’s filthy, with mismatched furniture.

It’s also got what has to be the meanest, throat-ripping-est,

satanic ROTTWEILER we’ve ever seen in our lives. This dog
growls and chomps at the leg of a leather TRAINING DUMMY
that’s suspended from a pulley in the ceiling.

On the other end of the rope is this dog’s owner -- KRAZY-8,

a young, hard-looking Mexican. He yanks the dummy skyward
while the rottweiler clamps down and hangs on tight. This
mutt is so badass, he means to rip out the dummy’s throat,
pass it through his colon, then do it all over again.
 44A.

While this goes on in f.g., Jesse wanders into view on the

back deck. He cups his eyes to the screen and peers in
through the open patio door. He calls out over the GROWLING.

JESSE
Yo, Kraze! How you doin’, my man?
Whassup! --
 45.

Krazy-8 glances over flatly, then returns his attention to

his killer dog. A beat or two as he keeps hoisting him.

JESSE
Hey, yo, can I come in?

Another beat of silence. Finally, without looking, Krazy-8

listlessly nods him inside.

Jesse bops into the house, all smiles. He’s acting like he
and this guy are tight -- which they are NOT. He tries to
represent like he’s not scared of the rottweiler, but he most
definitely keeps his distance.

JESSE
Hey, right on man, you got a new
dog? What’s his name?
(no answer)
Yo, I had a dog like that once.
Except maybe like, twice as big.
Super-purebred. I got him from
this dude in Germany? His great-
great-great-great-great-great-great-
great-great-great grandfather was
Hitler’s personal hunting dog.
My dog, I mean -- not the dude.
So that was pretty badass. Yeah,
personally? I’d train him to go
straight for the nutsack, myself.
I could show you, if you want.
Basically, you just rub a little
bacon on the --

KRAZY-8
-- Shut your mouth and show me your
money.

JESSE
I ain’t buying, ese. I’m selling.

Jesse holds up a tiny BAGGIE. Shakes it. It’s a “tina” --

one-sixteenth of an ounce of meth. One hit.

JESSE
Tell me that ain’t the finest
scante you ever laid eyes on.

Krazy-8 glances at the baggie, keeps hoisting his dog.

Glances at it again. Lets go of the rope and snaps his
fingers for the dog to heel. The rottweiler obeys perfectly,
sitting at attention and awaiting the order to strike.

Krazy-8 snatches the baggie. He studies it closely.

 45A.

JESSE
Go ahead. Try it.

Krazy takes a whiff of the open baggie, considers. He scoops

a taste into his pinkie nail. Meanwhile, Jesse gingerly
eases a hand toward the rottweiler.

JESSE
Hey poochie. Howya doing?

The dog GROWLS at him. Jesse quickly takes away his hand.
Not giving a shit whether the rottweiler tears Jesse’s arm
off or not, Krazy-8 snorts the meth up his nostril.

JESSE
BOO-YAH! See? What I say?

Krazy squints his eyes, rubs his nose. Jesus -- rocket fuel.

KRAZY-8
That’s alright.
(eyeing him)
So, what? You back in business?
 46.

JESSE
Hell, yeah I’m back! With a
vengeance! Vato loco gots to make
a living! And with your cousin
gone away and all...
(changes gears)
And listen homes, about that. It
really broke me up about Emilio.
Dude is like my brother.
(mournful)
He okay? You talk to him?

KRAZY-8
Yeah, I talked to him. He says
when the feds came, you were out
stickin’ it in some neighbor lady.

JESSE
(shrugs; smiles)
Hey, you know. I got lucky twice.

KRAZY-8
Yeah? I dunno, man. Emilio..?
(dark)
He thinks maybe you dimed on him.

Jesse’s expression clouds over, surprised and offended.

JESSE
That is bullshit. That is
bullshit, Krazy-8! I should kick
his punk ass for even thinking
that. Next time you talk to
Emilio, you tell him for me!

A TOILET FLUSHES o.s. Krazy-8 nods toward the sound.

KRAZY-8
He made bail this morning.
Tell him yourself.

Into the room walks EMILIO, the guy we watched get busted.
He looks bigger now, somehow. And angry.

EMILIO
Go ahead, pendejo. Kick my ass.

Jesse is suddenly none too comfortable. Emilio advances on

him, but Krazy-8 shakes his head to his cousin -- hold up.

Krazy-8 turns to Jesse, dangles the baggie.

 47.

KRAZY-8
Where’d you get this? ‘Cause I
know your punk ass didn’t cook it.

Off Jesse, not so cocky now:

54 EXT. PASTURELAND - DAY 54

It’s another day of illicit chemistry for Walt. He’s out
here alone with the Winnebago, having just arrived. He puts
his coat hanger on the mirror and strips down, hanging up his
good clothes. As he ties on his lab apron...

... A lime-green Cutlass arrives. Stops thirty feet away.

Walt stands his ground watching it, wary.

Three men in the car. A little hard to see. Walt relaxes

slightly when he realizes Jesse is one of them.

Driver’s door opens. Krazy-8 climbs out, stands his ground.

KRAZY-8
Damn, man. You some kinda nudist?
(off Walt’s silence)
That is some stone-fine tick tick
you been cookin’, ese! How ‘bout
you come work for me?

WALT
(a beat)
I’d be willing to sell to you.
If, uh... if the price is right.

As answer, Krazy-8 holds up a plastic bag filled with CASH --

gives it a slow SHAKE-SHAKE. He glances around, casual.

KRAZY-8
You out here all by yourself, huh?

Walt doesn’t like the question. Doesn’t answer. He’s

watching the Cutlass now -- wondering why Jesse, sitting in
the back seat with the third man, hasn’t moved.

The third man, EMILIO, climbs out now. He’s got a look on
his face that tells us he’s just realized who Walt is.

EMILIO
Hey, you’re that guy!
(to Krazy-8)
He was there when I got busted.
He’s with the D.E.A! --
 48.

OFF Walt -- uh-oh. Confusion all around. Rising anxiety.

Emilio turns on Jesse, still seated in the car.

EMILIO
You rata snitch muthafucker! --

Emilio reaches in his waistband for his gun. That’s enough

for Jesse -- he throws open the far door, takes off on foot.

JESSE
RUN, MR. WHITE! RUN!

As he yells this over his shoulder -- BAM! Jesse trips over

a big rock. He sprawls face-down, knocked cold.

Walt doesn’t go anywhere. Krazy-8 pulls his gun immediately,

points it at him. Pistols drawn, the two cousins look back
and forth between unconscious Jesse and Walt, who’s got his
hands up. Motionless silence. The cousins expect choppers
full of feds to come swarming in at any second.

None do. The cousins relax a touch. Jesse softly MOANS.

EMILIO
(to Krazy-8)
I say cap ‘em both.

Krazy-8 lights a cigarette, thinks about it. Walt stands

nervous, but stoic. He’s already living under a death
sentence. He’s not going to plead for his life.

Krazy blows smoke, studies Walt closely.

KRAZY-8
Yo. You really cook that batch?

Walt nods, his hands still raised.

KRAZY-8
You an artist. It’s a damn shame.

He raises his pistol, about to fire -- Emilio, too.

WALT
I’ll teach you my recipe! Whaddya
say? Huh? You wanna cook like me?
(off their silence)
Let us both live... I’ll teach you.

Emilio looks to Krazy-8, who’s weighing it. It’s attractive.

Off Krazy, blowing smoke:
 49.

55 EXT. WINNEBAGO - MINUTES LATER 55

CLOSE ON Jesse, face-down and blotto. Emilio hog-ties his
wrists, then gives him a KICK in the head for good measure.
Emilio walks to the RV in b.g.

56 INT. WINNEBAGO - CONTINUOUS 56

Walt prepares his tools and materials. Krazy-8 stands behind
him, arms crossed, gun in hand, watching his every move.
Emilio climbs aboard, joins his cousin.

WALT
Put out the cigarette. Please.

Krazy-8 considers, then pokes his cig through the louvered

slats of a window and flicks it outside.

57 EXT. WINNEBAGO - CONTINUOUS 57

CLOSE -- it lands behind the RV, a few red sparks flying.
We CREEP IN on the butt as it lies smoldering in the WEEDS.

58 INT. WINNEBAGO - CONTINUOUS 58

CLOSE -- water BOILS in a glass beaker held in a heating
mantle. Walt runs a finger across his neatly arranged jars
of ingredients. He stops on one -- RED PHOSPHORUS.

Walt glances at... his RESPIRATOR. It’s lying way at the

other end of the RV. Walt gingerly sizes up the cousins.

Emilio reaches over, wig-wags Walt’s earlobe with the muzzle

of his shiny .45. Cold and menacing as hell.

EMILIO
Step to it, snitch.

Clearly, these guys are going to kill him once he’s finished.
Walt makes up his mind -- it’s now or never. He unscrews the
top off the red phosphorus bottle. He takes a long, deep,
quiet breath... and HOLDS it.

He dumps the bottle into the beaker. It hits the boiling

water with a sizzling WHOOF and smokes up. Walt RUNS.
 50.

59 EXT. WINNEBAGO - CONTINUOUS 59

Walt makes it outside just ahead of the cousins. He slams
the door in their faces, leans his back against it hard.

BOOM! BOOM! They’re kicking the shit out of it from the

inside, trying desperately to get out. We hear them COUGHING
now. GASPING. The flimsy RV door won’t hold up long.

Suddenly -- BLAM!-BLAM!-BLAM! BULLET HOLES puncture the

door, zinging just above Walt’s head. Still Walt stands
fast, flinching and ducking lower. BLAM!-BLAM!-BLAM!-BLAM!

The firing stops. The CHOKING SOUNDS get louder, more

tortured. Horrifying. Tiny thin curls of RED SMOKE waft out
through the bullet holes.

We hear a heavy THUMP. Then ANOTHER. Two bodies hitting the

floor. Silence now. Walt shuts his eyes, breathing hard.

Walt recovers, stumbles over and checks on Jesse, who’s still

breathing. Walt unties him. Thank God, they’re both alive.
Just as Walt gets Jesse loose...

... He smells SMOKE. He turns, sees it rising thick and dark

from behind the Winnebago. He runs to see.

NEW ANGLE - BEHIND THE RV

Krazy-8’s CIGARETTE has started a BRUSH FIRE. It’s ten feet

across. Walt tries to stomp it out, but that ain’t working.

He yanks off his heavy lab apron, desperately tries to beat

out the flames with that. No dice. In a panic, Walt stares
up into the sky -- watches the SMOKE trail high overhead.
Everyone within five miles can see it.

LOW ANGLE - JESSE

Lies drifting in and out of consciousness. Walt -- in his

underpants -- runs to him. He yanks a RESPIRATOR onto
Jesse’s face, then drags him out of frame.

ANGLE - THE RV

The flames of the brush fire are licking the back bumper.
The engine ROARS alive as the Winnebago lurches forward and
takes off overland.
 51.

60 EXT. PASTURELAND - DAY 60

Walt’s trousers fall off the Winnebago, tumbling into frame.
We’re now full-circle back to the Teaser as the RV galumphs
across the landscape.

61 INT. WINNEBAGO - DAY (REPEATED FOOTAGE) 61

Walt drives in his underpants and his gas mask, his knuckles
white on the wheel. Unconscious Jesse slumps beside him.
Behind, the dead cousins slide to and fro amidst the sloshing
ruins of the meth lab. Their CASH flutters in the breeze.

Walt hyperventilates. His mask FOGS UP. BAM! He crashes,

violently JERKING FORWARD into lens. The frame goes BLACK.

CUT TO:

62 EXT. PASTURELAND - DAY - MINUTES LATER 62

We start on BLACK, then PULL OUT of the barrel of Walt’s gun.
We find ourselves where the Teaser left off -- Walt aims past
us, standing in the dirt road in his shirt and underpants.

SIRENS are wailing. We see RED LIGHTS flashing just over top
of the distant berm. They’re racing our way.

Walt has second thoughts. What the hell is he doing? He’s

not going to shoot anybody. The ferocity leaks out of him.
Despair settles into its place.

Sirens -- BLARING. Fuck it. He sticks the muzzle in his

mouth, winces hard. He YANKS the TRIGGER.

Nothing. The safety’s on. Walt fumbles with it, trying to

figure it out. BLAM! He accidentally FIRES the pistol into
the dirt! This startles him so much that he DROPS it.

All of this takes just long enough that...

... The sirens are revealed to be FIRE ENGINES. Not the

cops. Three neon green trucks flash past us, one by one.

They roar on by, none of the firemen taking the slightest

notice of Walt. They’re heading for Krazy-8’s brush fire a
mile away. We can see the crooked column of SMOKE from here.

Walt stares stupidly after them as their SIRENS fade away.

Gradually, the pasture grows quiet again.
 52.

Walt stands blinking, trying to figure out what the hell just
happened. Pure, dumb luck. Beginner’s luck.

As he stands here, the door to the RV opens behind him.

Jesse stumbles out, pulls off his gas mask. Half his face is
swollen like a balloon, but he’ll recover.

Jesse wanders over, stands next to Walt. Dazed silence.

JESSE
What happened..?
(looks to the RV)
W-What did you do to them?

Walt is weirdly matter-of-fact.

WALT
Red phosphorus, in the presence of
moisture and accelerated by heat...
yields phosphorus hydride.
Phosphine gas. One good whiff...

He shrugs, trails off. Folds at the waist and THROWS UP.

Jesse stands staring at nothing in particular. Walt rises,

wipes his mouth. He picks up his WALLET and CAMCORDER.

WALT
Gotta. Gotta clean this up.

He slowly wanders back to the Winnebago. Jesse staggers

after him. Off our two new partners, who have barely
survived their first week together...

63 INT. WHITE HOUSE - GARAGE - LATE NIGHT 63

DING, then a door opens -- revealing we’re inside the clothes
dryer, looking out. Twenty dollar bills flutter around, nice
and clean. Bleary-eyed Walt reaches in and grabs them by the
fistful. He picks loose a fabric softener sheet, tosses it.

It’s late. The rest of the world is asleep. Walt counts his
money. He squeezes shut his eyes, which are tearing up.
Tonight’s a night he sure as hell will never forget.

Fourteen thousand dollars and change. Walt wraps a rubber

band around this fat horse-wad. Remembering something, he
reaches in his pocket...

... And pulls out the tiny camcorder TAPE. On it, we’ll
remember, is his confession to his family. He thinks about
it a moment, then fastens it beneath the rubber band.
 53.

64 INT. WHITE HOUSE - SPARE BEDROOM - LATE NIGHT 64

CLICK -- the light comes on. Since we last saw it, this room
has been PAINTED.

It’s now a rich, light shade of GREEN. Like Spring grass.

Vibrant. All the diplomas and plaques that were on the wall
are gone, as is the desk and stair-stepper. It’s now fully a
baby’s room, ready and waiting for the blessed event.

Walt stands looking around, taking it in. He quietly moves

aside the bassinet. He gets down on hands and knees and
pulls loose a heat register. Inside it he carefully tucks
the fourteen thousand, hiding it away.

65 INT. WHITE HOUSE - MASTER BEDROOM - LATE NIGHT 65

Skyler lies in bed, alone and awake. We hear the SHOWER turn
off o.s. The RUSTLE of a towel. Quiet footsteps.

Walt gingerly climbs into bed, not wanting to wake his wife.
He lies motionless, staring up at the ceiling. A torrent of
thoughts rush through his head. Finally:

SKYLER
Where were you?

Walt doesn’t answer. Skyler turns his way, stares at him.

SKYLER
Walt, I don’t know what is going on
with you lately --

WALT
Nothing. I’m fine.

SKYLER
-- Whatever it is, I’ll tell you
this. I do not like it when you
don’t talk to me. The worst thing
you can do is shut me out.

WALT
I’m... I understand. I’m fine.

She stares at him in the darkness. He stares at her.

A strange feeling comes over him. It’s relief to be alive,

mixed with dread that life won’t last. It’s fear of being
caught. It’s the thrill -- for once -- of taking risks.
 54.

It’s excitement, in many different forms. And since he can’t

talk about it, there’s only one way to let it out.

Walt kisses his wife. Passionately.

SKYLER
Walt...

He keeps kissing her. Gently rolls her so that her back is

to him. Out of sight under the covers, he fumbles with her
panties, pulls them down.

Surprised as hell, Skyler nonetheless allows it. She feels

around behind her.

SKYLER
Oh my God. Is that you?

It sure is. The mighty oak. Walt enters her -- Skyler’s

eyes pop wide, and we CUT TO BLACK. Over the sounds of HEAVY
BREATHING and the SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAKING of bed springs...

... FADE UP CREDITS.

THE END